


Letters and Characters

by Katology



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Hogwarts Chamber of Secrets, I hope this wasn't too confusing, Implied Future Time Travel, Oneshot, Ron Weasley is a Good Friend, Tom Riddle's Diary
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-29
Updated: 2018-12-29
Packaged: 2019-09-29 13:29:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17204252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katology/pseuds/Katology
Summary: You almost undoubtedly have read a Tomarry time-travel AU before...But what if Diary Tom Riddle recognized Harry in the chamber? And referred to him as Hadrian Evans?





	Letters and Characters

“Harry!” a panicked voice shouted, “Are you alright?”

 

Gasping for breath, Harry squinted through his scratched and dusted glasses. There was a ringing in his ears and the world seemed to be titled on its axis. Multiple images of the collapsed corridor meshed together the longer he lied there. 

 

He let out a broken groan and attempted to yell, but his throat seemed to close against the stale air. 

 

_ Wand, he needed his wand _ . 

 

He felt around for it, hand pawing at bits of rubble before feeling a burst of warmth and a familiar piece of wood. 

 

Harry breathed a sigh of relief and clutched it against his dusty chest. 

 

“Harry, oh Merlin. You better be okay- I’m coming- just hold out alright?” Ron's voice seemed panicked, and he could start to hear the movement of rubble. 

 

With a swallow, Harry sat up and he let out a moan when his other arm spasmed in protest, shooting pains traveling down to his fingers. He winced when the pain subsided to a throbbing ache. 

 

“Ron,” he panted, “I’m alright, I- um,” Using his good arm for leverage, he stood on shaky feet, “I think I dislocated or sprained or did  _ something _ to my arm. It's fine though for now I think, doesn't hurt much if I don't use it,”

 

Ron’s relieved voice echoed in the dirty corridor, “Thank Merlin, is it your wand arm?”

 

“No, thank god for that,”

 

“Alright- Harry I'll continue to try to make a path out of these rocks. You need to find Ginny!” he said desperately, “Please… she’s my only sister!” 

 

A flash of fear went through Harry. 

 

_ Ginny _ . 

 

Harry didn’t particularly like her, she seemed kind of creepy. Her eyes were always huge, crazed, when staring at him; dark brown just like Mrs. Weasley. It seemed like she had a permanent blush on her face and a stutter not unlike Quirrelmort when she attempted to speak to him. 

 

She was Ron’s sister though. Ron’s blood. 

 

That would make her family, for he honestly saw the Weasley's as the family he never had. He wouldn't give up on them! Not after all they had done to help him! 

 

It was one of the easiest decisions Harry has ever made. 

 

With a muttered scourgify, his glasses were wiped clean and he yelled out, “It might be dangerous. If you end up coming to my side don’t come running in. Yell out for me and I'll tell you if it's safe,”

 

With a snort, Ron replied, “Bollocks to that, she's my sister and your my best friend. I'll come running in even if You-Know-Who himself was there,”

 

Harry pursed his lips and didn’t deign to reply to that statement, “Well then,” he said, “Wish me luck,” 

 

He knew Ron would not waver. The last time he had heard him being this earnest was when they were on Mcgonagall's giant chess set. His tone of voice was fixed, resolute. Harry knew he would give anything to keep his sister safe, and it didn’t help that he himself will be in danger too. For all of Ron’s faults, such as his laziness, brashness, and occasional bouts of jealousy; he was the best friend anyone could ask for. Simply put; there was very little Ronald Weasley wouldn't do for who he considered family. 

 

It was humbling. Harry knew logically he didn’t have anything to prove, he values Ron’s kinship in spades. However, he hoped he has shown his gratitude. He knows Ron has insecurities. It was unfortunately almost impossible not to be. 

 

_ “Not with me being the Boy-Who-Lived,”   _ Harry thought bitterly. 

 

With resolve and a bunch of Gryffindor bravery, Harry walked towards the other end of the tunnel, dust swirling in the air like smoke. 

 

A small circular door was at the other end; almost looking like an opening to a vault. It was as a rather rusted one, however, and covered in serpent-like-embellishments. Running his hand along it softly, Harry hissed, “Open,”

 

He flinched when it made a loud creak. There was a rush of air, as if it hadn’t been breached in decades, and it cracked open. The gap widened slowly. The dancing swirls of dust rushed into the newly opened space. Harry let out a sharp gasp when it was open enough to see the chamber clearly. 

 

From an architectural standpoint, it was breathtaking; it was a long, wide tunnel. Snakes carved from stone, not unlike the metal ones on the door, surrounded equally stone pillars like vines. Straight ahead was a gigantic statue; Salazar Slytherin. The room was shrouded in a pale green glow.

 

The chamber stunk like mildew, and Harry could see puddles of water dotting the outskirts, getting progressively deeper and dirtier the closer they are to the walls. There are large circular openings, pipes; which are the source of the water, it seems, judging from the mold covered in wet dew. 

 

What stuck out the most to Harry, however, was the small body with fiery red hair lying in the middle of the chamber, clutching a small black book. 

 

His heart stuttered in his chest as he jumped down, ignoring the sharp pain that went up his legs at an awkward landing. He ran towards her and dropped his wand with a clatter. He kneeled beside her, shaking her shoulders desperately with his good arm. 

 

All she did was jerk like a ragdoll, the book falling out of her hands to lay beside her. 

 

_ ‘T. M Riddle, ’  _ Harry noted with surprise; the diary. Shaking his head, he turned his attention back to the unconscious girl in front of him. 

 

“Cmon Ginny,” he muttered desperately, remembering the Basilisk with a jolt of terror, “Wake up,”

 

With mute horror, he put his head on her chest, squeezing his eyes shut and focusing on his hearing. When he heard a familiar thump, his heart gave a small pang in relief. At least she was alive. Harry gave a small frown and looked her over once more. Ginny was far too pale and there was a bead of sweat on her brow. Her eyes also had severe bags even in her unconscious state, stark on her delicate stature.

 

“She won’t wake,” 

 

The soft, cultured voice jerked him out of his reverie. He turned his head and there stood Tom Riddle; immaculate robes, Prefect badge pinned to his chest, and chestnut hair with not a curl out of place. He looked almost exactly like he did in the memory with Hagrid.

 

Almost being the keyword. 

 

The boy seemed washed out, like he was made of watercolors. Harry could almost see the outline of the chamber through him; like a ghost. He wondered distantly if he was solid or if he could throw a book through him, like Myrtle. 

 

With a feeling not unlike dread, Harry stood slowly, getting back on his feet with a wince, “Tom,” he asked slowly, “Tom Riddle?”

 

Harry noted in surprise that the boy was gaping, eyes wide and skin pale. Truly. It was like he saw a ghost. With a swallow the boy finally spoke, and his voice was choked in emotion. 

 

_ Longing.  _

 

“Hadrian?” he gasped, he stepped back, wand shaking in a trembling hand, “W-what?”

 

Harry frowned and tilted his head in confusion, “Who’s Hadrian?” With a jolt he looked back at Ginny, “Never mind that,” he muttered, “Tom there's a basilisk, we all have to get out of here. She needs to get to the hospital wing, she won't wake up,” He gestured towards the girl wildly, trying to communicate the seriousness of the situation.  

 

Tom still looked stricken, but he wasn't gaping like before. He was fingering his wand with both fingers now, and his eyebrows were puckered as if he was contemplating something. When he spoke, his voice was full of clarity, “Tell me, did you grow up with abusive muggles, named the Dursley's?” 

 

Harry’s head jerked at that. His eyes narrowed and it took everything he had not to reel in shock, “What?!” he gasped. 

 

_ How did he know? _

 

He looked at him with wary eyes, and leaned slowly down to grab his wand still on the floor, not looking away from him. Once it was in his hand, he felt mildly safer. Harry glared at the specter in front of him. 

 

“Why should my living situation be your business, and why do you think you know anything about it?”

 

Tom let out a shuddering breath and put his hand to his mouth, eyes closing for a long moment, “Hadrian,” he started tentatively, “I mean you no harm,” To prove his point he put his wand back in his pocket, and postured himself to be as non-threatening as possible. 

 

“I’m not Hadrian,” Harry snapped, “Why in the bloody hell are you calling me Hadrian?”

 

Tom seemed to recoil a bit from that, eyes widening in shock, “Do you not know me?” he breathed, “You are Hadrian Evans. I admit, I'm as confused as you are. I've never known you when you were this young, but your reaction to my previous question proves it's you. You look exactly like him, and-,” he paused, looking a little smug, “You also didn’t realize I have been speaking in Parseltongue the entire time. My Hadrian was also a Parselmouth,”

 

Harry blinked, “I'm confused,” he said finally, “You are from the 1940’s. I can’t have known you then,” 

 

Tom’s lips quirked, “That seems to be the dilemma, doesn’t it?” 

 

“Okay, look, I don’t know who you have met, and frankly I don’t care. There is a basilisk in this chamber and my best friend’s sister is possibly  _ dying _ . We need to get out of here!”

 

Tom seemed to close his eyes in melancholy, a wry, but soft smile on his lips, “You and your hero-complex,” he said almost fondly. It would have been if it wasn’t for the undercurrent of bitterness. 

 

Harry hissed impatiently, and looked back to check on Ginny. She seemed to be getting worse. Her breath was quickening and more sweat was dripping down her temples. Gritting his teeth, he snapped his gaze back to the Prefect, “Yeah,” he said sarcastically, “It's totally a hero-complex to not wish someone to die,” 

 

He leaned down to grab at her shoulders, using his functional arm to hike her off the ground. Her feet dragged on the ground, and her arm was limply wrapped along his shoulder. Harry held her like a baby, though it was extremely awkward due to how close they were in size. She was surprisingly light, though he knew he couldn't hold her for very long. He couldn't help but notice that he could feel her ribs through her thin second-hand robes. 

 

_ Does she not eat enough? _

 

He tried to take a step and grunted when he had to lower her to the ground again. 

 

_ Merlin he wished he knew how to lift her with magic.  _

 

“Are you going to help me or not?” Harry snapped, attempting to drag Ginny towards the entrance. With a huff he glanced pleadingly at Tom, who was staring at him with an inscrutable expression, “Tom, I’m serious,”

 

“Hadrian,” he started slowly, “How much do you care for the girl?”

 

A wave of indescribable fury spread through Harry, “Quit bloody stalling! She's my best friends sister!” He took a deep breath through his nose, still slowly making his way to the open doorway, Ginny’s body limply dragging behind him. How was it that Tom can infuriate him so much? 

 

“Right,” Harry said tersely, out of breath, “I’ll just leave you here then. Good day Tom,” 

 

He barely took another shuffling step when a panicked voice yelled out, “Wait!” 

 

It wasn’t all panic, however; and that made him turn around, halting his sluggish pace to safety. 

 

The boy's voice sounded so resigned, so  _ sad _ . It reminded Harry of himself, what he hid behind emotional barriers when he was on the train home to the Dursley’s in first year. It reminded Harry of those expressions he had seen on actors on the telly; the desperation when the husband watches his wife drown. 

 

Harry’s breath hitched when Tom’s facial expression matched his tone. Sad. 

 

“The reason the girl is unconscious is because we are trading life forces; simply put, when she dies I will become fully corporeal,” Tom whispered, hand fingering the wand in his pocket. 

 

_ What. _

 

Tom continued, ignoring the horror that was slowly becoming evident on Harry’s face, “I am willing to sever the connection, as long as you make a magical vow to give the diary to someone else--”

 

“First off, why in the HELL should I help you when you have admitted to doing this to Ginny?” Harry yelled with incredulity, “Does that mean you also--” he paused with a sudden revelation and his face paled from the flushed red. 

 

“No,” Harry whispered in horror. He stared stunned at the boy, who was almost staring impassively, if it wasn't for the sadness. Harry did not know why the sadness disturbed him so. He did not know why his heart clenched at the distressed downturn of his eyebrows… at the dullness in his eyes…

 

The small amount of pity, however, was nothing. It wouldn't protect the boy at all if he did do it. 

 

He whipped his wand out of his pocket and let Ginny's hand fall to the ground in a thud, “Did you petrify all those students?” Harry demanded. 

 

“Yes,” 

 

There was no regret in the others voice. Bile rose in Harry’s throat. 

 

“Why?”

 

The logical part of Harry was wondering why he even bothered petrifying the students. After all it would bring undue attention; and if he needed someone's life force, shouldn't he have tried to get it as quietly as possible?

 

The emotional part of Harry was wondering how he could do it to innocent students. He had no idea if they were conscious; eyes staring blankly at the ceiling, alone with their thoughts… unable to move. 

 

Tom’s eyes were wild, begging to be understood, “It's my destiny!” he said desperately, “Salazar Slytherin himself, the greatest of Hogwarts four, left instructions for his heir. To purge the school of the unworthy. It's my birthright, my responsibility--” his voice cracked slightly, “--this proves that I’m more than my father's weak muggle blood. This proves I can be more than the mudblood of Slytherin, that I am direct descendant of one of the greatest wizards of all time, that I am capable of taking his mantle without regret,”

 

Tom was breathing heavy, cheeks red from the impassioned speech. 

 

“I will not be denied my inheritance due to inconsequential emotions--  _ weaknesses-- _ such as remorse. I refuse to be restricted, controlled--”

 

“You're insane,” Harry breathed, “You think that a thousand year old order to kill muggleborns is an inheritance,”

 

“Hadrian,” Tom pleaded, “I know you don’t approve, I knew you wouldn't. But can we please talk about this later? If you truly care about the girl--”

 

“You have no right to say anything about Ginny!”

 

“Do you wish to save her? Make the vow Hadrian. Vow to do everything in your power to give my diary to another person and I will sever the connection,” Tom was still shaking from his tirade, it was less noticeable now, “She doesn’t have long; and I refuse to go back to the blank pages, alone with my own mind, without reassurances,”

 

Harry's mind was whirling a mile a minute. Desperate huffs of breath escaped his lips in pants as he protectively hovered over Ginny, who was now trembling on the floor. It was almost unnoticeable; but he could see the slight twitching in her pallid neck and fingers. 

 

_ “Oh Merlin,” _ Harry thought, terrified. 

 

“I believe this is the final stage,” Riddle remarked, “She has naught but five minutes. Ten at most,” He shrugged, “But if you don’t want to permanently make her a squib I suggest you make that vow,”

 

Harry opened his mouth in a knee-jerk reaction to deny, to be repulsed at such an action, to say no, never. A repetition of his strident words to Voldemort almost a year ago--

 

But he closed it. 

 

This was Ginny. Ron’s sister. Family. 

 

Harry knew the choice he would make. Despite his morals, despite knowing that he would have a hand at the murder of someone else; he knew he would do it.  _ Not  _ doing so would utterly destroy him, wrack him in guilt, he would lose some of the only people that utterly accepted him. If he can't save their daughter, why in the hell should they love him? He would be responsible for her death; especially since he could do something about it. 

 

Harry does not know much about family. Sure, he understands the concept. But he has never had much experience with it. He doesn’t consider the Dursley's family, despite his blood relation. If anything, they were merely the people who gave him the bare minimum. At worst, they were abusers. So no, they aren't family. 

 

The Weasley's are, however. And family protects family. 

 

“I’ll make the vow,” Harry whispered brokenly, pushing aside a pulse of guilt. 

 

Tom smiled chillingly, with a hint of fondness at the corners, “Good choice Hadrian,” 

 

With a deep breath, and an even deeper sense of foreboding, Harry stated his vow, eyes glassy with unshed tears. 

 

“I, Harry James Potter, swear on my magic to do everything in my power to make sure that Tom Riddle’s diary gets in the hands of someone else, as long as Tom Riddle makes due on his promise to sever his connection with Ginny Weasley,”

 

There was a snap of magic, a light golden glow that clashed with the coolness of the green for a moment, and then everything became still. 

 

Tom gave a small laugh but sobered quickly, “Goodbye Hadrian, for now,” He stood there, almost awkwardly if it wasn't for his perfect poise, “I hope we can make amends. You were the only person I cared for,” Tom gave a self deprecating smile, “My only weakness,”

 

With a purple flash, he faded, leaving a  _ very  _ conflicted Harry behind. 

 

Ginny gave a shuddering breath, her pallor turning into a more natural color; still pale, unhealthy, but she at least did not look like a corpse. 

 

Harry stared at the seemingly innocuous diary, lying faux innocently on the floor.

 

Ron was still trying get through the rocks; trying to make convince an obliviated Lockhart to help with the rubble. 

 

Tom Riddle, however, was swirling, bodiless, in an endless array of letters and punctuation. 

 

_ “Fifty years,”  _ thought Tom Marvolo Riddle,  _ “I could wait a few months more,” _

 

Somehow, it didn’t bring any comfort. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading my dudes! Comment your thoughts because they are the yee to my haw. 
> 
> I mean it. I'm a slut for feedback. 
> 
> ~Katelynn Irene Lovegood


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